


At First Sight

by cuddlesandstucky



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-02-28 21:04:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18764185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlesandstucky/pseuds/cuddlesandstucky
Summary: Buffy sat uncharacteristically quiet in the back of the room, staring at the naked figure in front her. When Tara had invited her to sit in on her art class, Buffy had agreed nonchalantly, imagining still life apples and bright watercolors and cute easels. No big! Totally fine. Naked man with smoldering eyes? Decidedly unexpected.





	1. Chapter 1

Buffy sat uncharacteristically quiet in the back of the room, staring at the naked figure in front her. When Tara had invited her to sit in on her art class, Buffy had agreed nonchalantly, imagining still life apples and bright watercolors and cute easels. No big! Totally fine. Naked man with smoldering eyes? Decidedly unexpected.

Buffy had initially followed Tara to the corner of the room and pulled up a wooden stool by her friend’s easel. “So, this is where the magic happens?”

Tara blushed as she began pulling supplies from her bag – fresh paper, assorted pencils. “I-It’s not magic. Just a hobby.”

“Yeah, just a hobby you’re really great at! I’ve seen you’re work, Tara, don’t discredit yourself.” Buffy picked up Tara’s eraser and molded it back and forth between her hands. Tara really was a gifted artist, even though she politely denied any compliments directed towards her. Buffy, on the other hand, couldn’t draw a stick figure to save her life. Her free time centered more on kickboxing and shopping and kissing Riley whenever she got the chance.

The din of voices in the studio began to dull as an older man in a tweed coat walked to the front of the room. “That’s Giles,” Tara whispered. “He owns this studio.”

“Hello, everyone,” he began, a formal British accent lacing each word. “Glad you could all make it this week. Before we begin, I have a few announcements to run through.”

As the man informed the small group of artists about the upcoming activities at the studio, Buffy’s gaze wandered around the room. She hadn’t noticed before, but there was a small platform behind Giles, raised only a foot or two off the ground. A block of marble sat atop it, and Buffy surmised that is where the still life objects of sketch-worthy attention would sit.

Just then, a door across the room opened and Buffy’s eyes shifted towards it. A tall, well-built man sauntered into the room, and embarrassingly, Buffy couldn’t drag her eyes off of him. He wore a tight black shirt that molded across his chest alluringly, complimented by equally tight black pants that left little to the imagination of his lower anatomy. His hair was bleached and gelled back, a look that Buffy would have laughed at if it hadn’t looked so damn attractive on the guy. Not that she cared. Or noticed. Riley had better hair and wore better clothes. Clearly.

“As you may recall from earlier this month, this is my nephew, William,” Giles said, pulling Buffy’s attention back to the man at the head of the room.

“Spike, actually,” the man interjected before Giles could continue. “Since we’re all such splendid friends here.”

“Ah, yes. The nickname. Well, Spike will be modeling again for you today.” Buffy’s eyes widened considerably as Giles words dawned on her. Oh. Attractive William Spike guy will be modeling. Okay. Alright. Yeah. Wow.

Spike hopped up on the platform behind Giles and pulled his shirt off in one swift move. Despite his slightly arrogant smile and natural air of sensuality, Buffy noted the professionalism in his actions. This wasn’t a strip show. He was doing his job.

Nevertheless, Buffy’s heart raced as he began to unbutton his pants. She glanced over at Tara repeatedly, who seemed entirely unmoved by the attractive man undressing in front of them. Granted, Tara was gay. But still, Buffy was surprised by how unconcerned everyone in the room seemed to be, besides her. She looked back up at him and – oh, hey, naked. Fully naked. Naked man.

Whatever else Giles said before stepping away and allowing the artist to work went far over Buffy’s head. She felt warm and cold and the room was entirely quiet save the dull scratching of pencils against paper. She focused on the sheet in front of Tara, forcing herself to not glance up at the man in front of the room.

Unfortunately, against her conscious will, Buffy’s eyes darted up just as Tara began to detail the lower half of the model’s body, and she realized Spike was staring right at her.

\--- 

Spike remained still, his arms crossed in front of him as he half-sat, half-stood against the marble block in front of the room. He’d modeled for this class before and thought he knew the faces of everyone in it. Apparently not.

He eyed the blonde sitting by Tara (one of his uncle’s favorite students) taking note of how intentionally she was trying to not look at him. She sat stiffly on the stool beside her friend, eyes glued to easel. Must be new, he thought to himself, the corner of his mouth arching up into a small smirk.

Just then, the girl glanced up, her eyes immediately locking with his. They stared for a long moment, Spike wanting to see how she would react, the girl apparently not quite sure where else she should look. For the briefest of moments, her eyes shot downwards to his cock, resting heavily between his angled legs, and her eyes widened.

\--- 

Holy shit. Buffy looked back up at Spike, having just seen his most intimate, well-sized anatomical feature. She surveyed his knowing smirk, noted his stupid bleached hair that should have looked idiotic but was somehow actually hot, and did the only thing that made sense in that moment.

She laughed. One single, just-too-loud huff of nervous giggling that made Spike’s brow arch, and half the class look up at her.

Tara looked over at her, eyes questioning, and Buffy haphazardly tried to cover up the incident with a cough. “I’m… um… I’m just going to wait in the lobby. Allergies. You know.”

Buffy stood up suddenly, the metal stool she was sitting on dragging loudly across the concrete floor. She could feel Spike’s eyes on her but refused to look back, making her way as quickly as possible towards the door of the room, willing herself not to do anything else embarrassing in the next few seconds.

\--- 

Spike watched the girl stumble her way out of the room, closing the door loudly behind her. The artists resumed their work relatively quickly, apparently more concerned with their sketches than with the slight disruption. Tara gave him a small smile and shrugged before she too continued on her own work.

An hour and a half later, as the class came to an end and the artist’s packed up their gear, William pulled his clothes back on and made his way to the main studio gallery, aiming to catch the girl who, well, laughed at his dick.

Before he could get to the door, however, Giles pulled him aside as students streamed past. “Thank you for joining us again, Will,” his uncle began, though he seemed to stutter there, unsure of how to continue. The older man took off his round glasses and began to wipe them on the edge of his shirt. “And about the, uh, the interruption…”

“Aw, it’s nothing, old man,” Spike said breezily, clasping Giles shoulder. “But I’ve got to split,” and he was out the door.

The main gallery lobby had mostly emptied, even in just those few moments, and Spike realized, with a twinge of curious disappointment, that Tara and the girl were gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He recognized the girl sitting in the coffee shop across the street immediately, and noted that she was decidedly displeased to see him again. If he were a different, more decent man, he would have kindly averted his eyes, mounted his bike, and rolled away without a second glance.
> 
> Unsurprisingly, Spike didn't give a shit about decency, and with a cheeky wink, began to make his way across the street.

Buffy buried her face in her hands, groaning dramatically as Tara gave her a wary smile. The minute the art class was dismissed, she had grabbed Tara from the lobby and darted out the front doors. It was a chilly afternoon, and they briskly walked along the sidewalk until they’d made it to a coffeeshop a few blocks away.

The street was lined with orange and red-leafed trees, and the pair settled into a table alongside a big, circular window once they’d gotten their drinks.

“It w-wasn’t _that_ bad,” Tara said kindly. “Everyone forgot about it once you left.”

Buffy peeked through her fingers and gave Tara a skeptical look. “Oh, sure. Everyone just forgot about the girl laughing at the naked man.”

“T-they did, though! This was one of our last life-model sessions of the semester. I think e-everyone was just focused on getting their p-perspectives down.”

“Uh-huh, all the students might have forgotten but I _know_ he didn’t.” Buffy leaned forward, moving her hands to cup around her mouth, and whispered fervently, “Tara, I like… I _looked_ at his _dick_! He saw me staring at it! Stop laughing! This is not funny!”

Tara stifled a snicker and took a sip from her latte as Buffy fiddled with the handle on her own mug. “You know the worst part? He seems like just the kind of asshole who wants you to look, you know? Like he’s just asking you to feast your eyes on his – _thing_ – expecting you to be impressed.”

“W-well, were you?” Tara replied bluntly, and they both seemed a little surprised she’d actually posed that question.

It only took Buffy a moment to realize that, entirely against her will, _she totally was_. There was something about him that exuded sensuality – obviously his looks, but also his attitude as well. He seemed so relaxed and confident. Granted, his job was literally to sit in front of a room full of people while nude, which must demand some amount of natural confidence, but still. She’d never seen someone so completely in control of his own body, and so aware of the affect he could have on other people. Nevertheless…

“Obviously not,” Buffy countered emphatically, straightening her shoulders. “Besides, I have a boyfriend, and if we’re talking about being impressed, Riley _certainly_ has …” Her voice tapered off as she looked out the window. Across the street, of frickin course, stood Spike – clad in chunky cargo boots and a black leather jacket. He was standing beside a motorcycle, just beginning to unclip the helmet, when he looked up, and –

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” Buffy muttered. 

 

\---

 

As Spike left the studio, he pulled out a half empty pack of American Spirits and tucked one into the corner of his mouth, lighting it with deft hands. Fall was just beginning to descend upon Sunnydale – in as much as Fall could descend on a small, southern-Californian city – and the slight turn towards crisp air has Spike itching for the drag.

He’d been living in the city for almost a year now, having left England after his mother passed, and still didn’t feel settled in the suburban desert-scape. The weather was too hot, pubs were few and far between, and on more than one occasion, he’d driven on the wrong side of the street.

Still – there were some plus sides. Giles had fixed him up in a flat with confusingly cheap rent – something, he supposed, his uncle had worked out with the property manager. Dead mother pity, and all that.

Additionally, The Bronze, the one worthwhile bar in the city, was situated only a few hundred yards away from his place, and he admittedly made good use of that fact. He bartended there most weeknights, and picked up women on the weekends, playing up his charm as the British bad boy they couldn’t help but want to fix.

Spike whittled down the cigarette as he walked, reaching the end just as he came upon his bike. While he missed rides in the misty, gray-skied country roads of the homeland, he did appreciate Sunnydale’s proximity to seaside highways and sprawling desert roads. He checked his watch and reasoned that in the few hours before his shift, he’d have plenty of time for a drive. He ground the filter into the pavement and made to put on his helmet, but looked up suddenly, feeling that eyes were on him.

And oh, were they. Blue, bright, and fiery, like the base of a flame. He recognized the girl sitting in the coffee shop across the street immediately, and noted that she was decidedly displeased to see him again. If he were a different, more decent man, he would have kindly averted his eyes, mounted his bike, and rolled away without a second glance.

Unsurprisingly, Spike didn't give a shit about decency, and with a cheeky wink, began to make his way across the street.

 

\---

 

Buffy’s eyes bulged. Was he _serious_? Did he _seriously_ just wink? And was he seriously walking across the street to confront her in this coffeeshop right now? Her cheeks burned red as she shifted her gaze back to Tara, who was struggling to hide her laughter.

“I have to go,” Tara said, quickly throwing her book bag across her shoulder and polishing off her latte. Buffy grabbed her hand desperately, pinning it to the table.

“Tara, you cannot,” she said, dramatically emphasizing each syllable of her words. “You. Can. Not. Leave. Me.”

Tara placed her other hand on top of Buffy’s and, kindly but firmly, made to shove it off. “I t-told Willow I’d meet her at 5,” she said. “A-and I have a lot of work to d-do tonight.” Buffy was still clutching her hand desperately when they both heard the bell above the cafe door ring and looked towards it.

The impossibly blonde man sauntered in their direction, and with each step, Buffy cringed, wishing this reality away. Tara was the first to speak up.

“Spike, h-hi,” she said, finally slipping her hand out of Buffy’s reach. “W-what are you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d stop by, you know. Seems I haven't had the pleasure of meeting everyone from the class,” he said pointedly, looking at Buffy with tangible curiosity.

“Ah,” Tara said, looking between them with amusement. “Well, I’m actually just on my way out so, I-I guess I’ll see you n-next class.”

Spike nodded at Tara as she made her exit and eyed the empty seat across from Buffy. “Would you mind?” He said, gesturing towards the chair. Buffy just looked at him, and then at the chair, and then back at him, saying nothing. Unsure of how to proceed, Spike took a tentative seat. “We’ll I’ll just. Take that as a not no then.” 

As soon as he was seated, Buffy finally met Spikes eyes. “What are you doing here? Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” he countered innocently.

“You know exactly what!”

“How could I know what you’re talking about? We’ve never met.”

“Look,” Buffy began, placing both of her hands flat on the table in front of them, as if she were laying something plainly out for a child. “I’m sorry if. If you were embarrassed by me being in the class today.”

“’scuse me, pet, you think _I’m_ the one who was embarrassed? I get up there everyday. You were the odd factor out.” He half rolled his eyes and sat back in the seat, surveying Buffy with a judgmental eye.

Small as she might be, the girl seemed to be constantly emitting passion and energy, as if her body was radiating merely from being alive. Her brows were knotted as she looked at him, but then in one swift moment eased out, and she gave him a casual, though not entirely friendly, grin.

“Well, I’ve never been to that kind of class before. A little warning could have been helpful.”

“Oh, I could be very helpful.” Spike leaned in closer towards her in his seat, his voice dropping an octave. “Teach you all sorts of lessons.”

Buffy scoffed at this, but felt her heart sip a beat. Now that she was sitting directly across from him, she found that Spike was even more striking than she’d thought before. It wasn’t just that he had a great ( _okay, fine, a hot_ ) body. His eyes, which she’d first thought were hazel, had vibrant rays of blue in them, and surveyed her with a casual intensity that had her insides fluttering. And she could smell something on him – crisp and distinct. Possibly sandalwood, or was it bergamot? She shook herself out of these silent musings and reminded herself she didn’t like this person. _She didn’t want to be around this person, ever_. “It might interest you to know that I have a boyfriend,” she dropped as casually as she could manage.

“Do you now?” Spike challenged, his voice still low and seductive, as if he didn’t believe her.

“Well, yes,” she responded, a bit unsettled. “He’s great. And we’re very happy. And his name is Riley.”

“Riley. Isn’t that just right as rain,” he said, straightening back up. Buffy frowned at him. “Well I wish you and _Riley_ the best.”

An uncomfortable silence fell upon them and Buffy took the opportunity to grab her bag and stand up. Being so close to Spike had her feeling antsy, as if even talking to him was some slight against Riley. Which was crazy. Because she’d just met this guy. And didn’t even like him. At all.

“Look, it’s been… well, I wouldn’t say it’s been nice to meet you. So I’m not sure what to say except goodbye and have a good life, I guess.” With that, she turned on her heel and walked out the door. She’d just made it out onto the sidewalk when she felt a hand grasp her arm, abruptly halting her. She looked up to see Spike, of course, and let out a groan. If her heart was beating just a little bit faster than it was a moment ago – well, she had nothing to say about that.  

“Yes, Spike?” she asked, irritation lacing her words, even as she felt electrified by his hand on her arm. She chanced a glance at it, and saw how his skin was just a shade lighter than hers. Light enough that she could see the impression of faint blue veins branching up to his fingers, long and nimble, which still held onto her arm.

Spike shifted his weight between his feet and looked at her intently. “Ah, look. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he began, but then seemed at a loss for words. Buffy raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue, or to drop her arm, or something.  

“You know, I didn’t actually get your name,” he said suddenly, and Buffy couldn’t help but laugh again, that same loud huff from the studio.

For a moment, she debated not telling him. He didn't deserve to know her name - this guy who seemed intent on humiliating her, and undermining her relationship, and refusing to just let her walk away. After a long pause, her resolve finally fizzled. "It's Buffy," she said reluctantly.   

Spike leaned in close, close enough that Buffy could feel his breath on her face. “It's been a pleasure, Buffy. On the off chance things aren’t always so… rosey with the boy,” he said, his voice dropping again as he searched her face. “I’m down at The Bronze more often than not. Lessons redeemable at any time.” He gave her another one of his stupid, totally-not-hot smirks, and Buffy felt her mouth go dry.

Before the conversation could go any further, she shrugged off his arm and fixed him with a scowl, already turning to walk away. “Goodbye, Spike. I will be happy if I never see you again.”

 

\--- 

 

Buffy arrived back at her apartment that evening, wanting nothing more than to take a long bath and go to sleep, forgetting all of the embarrassments she’d somehow invited into her day. As she unlocked the door, she was met with the smell of fresh basil and melty cheese – and as heavenly as it was… she slumped. _Riley_. Right. They’d made plans for dinner. Homemade dinner. His… aunt’s recipe? Mother’s? She couldn’t remember and smacked herself internally for not paying more attention. She unfurled her scarf from around her neck and hollered out, “smells good!”

She and Riley were fine. Good, even. Buffy liked having him around, and he was so nice. And great-looking. And kind. And sometimes she wondered if they were just together because it was comfortable, and because he was the first guy she’d ever called a boyfriend. But he cared for her, and she cared for him, and when she reached the end of the hallway and looked into the kitchen, she still melted a little. He was hovering over a glass baking dish, carefully layering noodles, meat, sauce, and cheese, and she decided that all of her doubts were silly. Yes, they were silly, and she needed to just be happy with him and with this moment.

Nevertheless, a longing sigh escaped her as she imagined the unused bath bombs in her bathroom cupboard, and walked tiredly over to greet the man standing in the kitchen.

“You’re back late,” Riley said, as he leaned back and gave her a quick kiss. “I thought we’d agreed on 6.” Buffy glanced over to the microwave and saw, with surprise, that it was nearly 7pm. She hadn’t even realized.  

She wasn’t quite sure what to say about her day, so eased in with a general: “Yeah, I stopped by a coffee shop after Tara’s class and just got caught up. Sorry about that.”

“Coffee? 4pm? You’re probably going to have the jitters all night,” Riley said, as he resumed his food assembly.

“No way,” she teased. “Coffee’s got nothin’ on Buffy Summers.”

He gave her with an affectionately deadpan look. “You always say that, but I’m the one sleeping next to the girl kicking the covers around all night.”

…

The couple ate dinner (the lasagna was, indeed, amazing) and cuddled up on the couch afterwards, watching reruns of a sitcom they’d both seen a million times. Eventually, they made it to bed, Riley’s arms circling Buffy as he gave her a deep kiss. She kissed him back and curled in his arms as the room got quiet. A short while later, she noted that his breathing had deepened, and his hold on her loosened some. She looked at his face, all shades of dark blue and shadow, and noted how even in sleep, his features were strong, as if he were actively focusing on the act of resting.  

And she lay there, looking at Riley, and then the ceiling, and then the clock, and then the ceiling again. And tried counting to 500, and breathing slowly, and keeping her arms and legs still.

And finally, she gave up, and went to the kitchen for a glass of water, and succumbed to the knowledge that she would have the jitters all night, though something deep inside her seemed to register that this had more to do with the a certain, leather-jacketed Brit than it did the herbal tea she’d had at the coffee shop.

 

\---

 

Spike laughed as the woman on the stool in front of him stretched dramatically over the bar and filed her wispy fingers through his hair. “You seriously have the blondest hair I’ve ever seen.” 

“That right, love?” he said, measuring bourbon into the cocktail glass in front of him. He eyed her curly brown hair, and her conspicuously low tank top, fitted tightly over her chest. Spike had never seen her here before, but knew her type.

“You’re like a bald eagle,” she said as she pulled her hand back and wrapped it around the martini glass in front of her.

“How American of me,” he countered, as he slid the Old Fashion he’d been working on down the bar to its eagerly awaiting patron. He dried his hands on the towel resting over his shoulder and faced her squarely, resting his palms on the rim of the bar.

The woman gave him a coy smile before polishing off the last of her martini. “So, what time do you get off?”

…

An hour later, they were back in Spike’s flat, the brunette sprawled across his bed, writhing beneath him as his fingers ran across her chest, lightly over her nipples, which hardened as soon as he touched them. “Oh my god,” she let out, and he ducked his head between her legs and began licking patterns between her legs. She moaned and writhed as her pleasure built until finally, she came with a shudder, her hands curling into Spike's hair as she rode it out.  

Breathing heavily, she pulled him back up and kissed him. She snaked her hand down to his pants and made to undo the buckle, but Spike stopped her hand before she could. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, confused. “I’ve gotta get back to work, pet,” he said, and kissed her once more before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. 

“Are you serious?” she asked, frowning. “You said your shift-”

“I’ll see you around at the bar,” he cut in as he finished buttoning up his shirt. “We should do this again sometime, ah…”

“Megan,” she filled in, pulling the duvet up over her chest.

“Yes, Megan.” He gave her a hasty smile and turned around, stopping in the doorway. “There’s, uh. There’s bread, in the cupboard. If you want toast, or something.”

She raised her eyebrows, but he was already out of the room, grabbing his jacket and keys, and dashing out the door. He made it out to the street and fumbled to light a cigarette, exhaling heavily as he did so. He walked up the street and past The Bronze, his brow furrowing the further he went. This was unlike him – bolting before the night was over. He rarely left business unfinished, and Megan was certainly his usual type (attractive, witty enough, looking only for the physical).

But as he walked, and smoked, and walked and smoked, he found he couldn’t stop thinking about the bird with golden hair and curiously blue eyes – and that laugh, that played in his mind like a record on repeat.

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooo! Welcome to this fic. It's my first stab (cute!) at doing something weekly, but I have it all outlined so here's to sticking to goals! Let the record show that I have absolutely no idea how actual naked modeling goes, but heyyooo yay model Spike. lol. 
> 
> New chapters on Wednesdays! <3 
> 
> Fun fun fun, happy to be here! :)


End file.
